


a little bit easier

by maureenbrown



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Background Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Christmas, Christmas Party, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, about a year after the raven king, but this is for my best friend parky, god i haven't read this series or written in Forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maureenbrown/pseuds/maureenbrown
Summary: It’s Christmastime; a moment to take time off of work for family, to bristle yourself in the cold then invigorate yourself in the warmth of a fireplace that licks the snow off of your chattering teeth and clammy hands, which are interwoven with your best friends.It’s Ronan’s least favorite time of the year.





	a little bit easier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keithkvgane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithkvgane/gifts).



> for my best friend parker <33

It’s Christmastime; a moment to take time off of work for family, to bristle yourself in the cold then invigorate yourself in the warmth of a fireplace that licks the snow off of your chattering teeth and clammy hands, which are interwoven with your best friends.

It’s Ronan’s least favorite time of the year.

It’s not that he doesn’t mind a cup of hot chocolate (with some shots of bourbon), a commercialized holiday with cheap songs (it reminds him of Murder Squash), or being able to binge his skinny torso and youth on Christmas cookies. He just hates the meaning of it all, besides the Hallmark goodness: family. 

Obviously his biological family is out of the ballpark, who are currently probably sipping champagne and chortling at some joke that wouldn’t make Ronan laugh—a civilized, funny tale about a golfer instead of an Aglionby boy falling down the stairs and knocking his front teeth into his mouth so that he looks like Count Dracula. Either that or they’re hosting some elegant party full of people they distaste only to receive presents they don’t deserve nor need due to their bountiful amount of money that Ronan loves to waste.

Certainly, he doesn’t want to see Declan. Need he go further into that? Matthew, he’ll drop by to see. He’s already got an irresponsibly and dangerously wrapped pocket knife which he’s already sat on twice in the leather seat of his car… Maybe for his present to himself, he’ll buy himself a touch-up. 

No, this holiday isn’t about Ronan as much as he wished it were. This holiday, he’s going to spend it drunk with his friends (the drunk part as per usual, but this time he needs the latter). 

He heads out to his car, squashes Matthew’s gift for the third time that day, and heads over to deliver it to him. They share a hug and he gives him a signature hair ruffle, commenting on how long and curly it’s gotten along with the orthodox “you’ve gotten so tall,” before heading to the store. He returns to the barns an hour later, manages successfully not to squish all of the gifts he’d gotten (which, to his credit, were relatively fragile and well-thought-out), and settles in the couch with a beer in his hand. 

He flicks his wristband instead of biting it to the downbeat of ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You,’ instead of rubbing the grease from where Adam and he had held hands along his tongue. Besides, the acrid taste of beer lies there. 

Things don’t go horribly. 

After the so-called party dies down (Gansey calls it quits from Blue’s dancing, and Orla and Helen get a bit too into it and try and have sex on the couch next to Adam unbeknownst to him), Ronan wanders back to his car and drives back to Monmouth Manufactory with his boys and Blue, a title which he thought was very clever. He makes them listen to a dubstep holiday version of the Murder Squash song, which Adam is too woozy to attest to, which he’s pleased about. 

He ushers his boyfriend to bed, pets his hair and prays that he doesn’t get up to throw up before he can return. He leaves a trash bin by their bedside just in case.

He hovers around, mulling since when he approaches Noah’s door he hears soft talking. Blue’s murmuring to him, telling him about how the party went, and she looks grateful for the lack of disturbance when she exits ten minutes later. She’s wearing the stockings that Ronan gifted her, and the pink glitter from the scrunchie he’d unironically bought her but she’d ironically loved glimmers in her hair. She offers him a hearty pat on the shoulder, stumbling past him with a brush of her lips against his stubble against his jaw that he probably should’ve shaved for the occasion. It’s comforting, and he takes a deep breath before stepping into Noah’s room. 

The room is untouched save for Blue’s times laying in his bed and from the dents of the pillow which Ronan nearly tore between his hands in anguish when he first disappeared, and the room is as cold as his seven-year-old… Would it be eight or nine years now? Time didn’t matter, anyways. He was still gone.

The taste of beer is bitter on Ronan’s tongue once more and he wishes he hadn’t chugged so many bottles of it before coming here. Well, there’s the toilet waiting for him and his tears after this.

Except this time, Ronan doesn’t want to cry. He clears his throat awkwardly and looks around the room, still seeking out his presence or a trace of his lemongrass scent as he toes the door closed with his polished shoe. 

The only light in his abode is the Christmas lights Blue insisted they put up, which Adam helped with. However, they got sidetracked and lay tangled but lit in the corner, traces of their gingerbread cookies lingering around them and crunching underneath Ronan’s boots. 

“Hey, Noah… Or, the Ghost of Christmas Past.” Ronan starts awkwardly, cringing afterward at his joke, but his heart leaps into his throat when he hears Noah’s tinkling laughter, with cackles and belly-clutches an everything in his ears. He’s hearing things, but it doesn’t matter because of the flush of warmth to his cheeks and the way his shoulders sag. 

He plops himself down on the creaky bed that never moved for Noah, lays his head in his usual spot where the indent is and stares into the spot where Noah’s would’ve been. They used to huddle nose-to-nose when Noah was materialized enough, and there’s a tiny divot in the cot where his delicate body used to rest. 

Ronan misses Noah so much it aches. 

“I brought you a snow globe.” He whispers, his voice grating and Ronan can’t bring himself to hate himself for it. He’d gotten over that long ago; there would always be more tears for his fallen friend. This time, that won’t be the case. Or, there would be, and he would fire his therapist for all of the coaching and training he’d done for this. 

He turns around adds it to the collection on his bedside, shuffling them around to plop his newest and biggest addition to his other gifts, which now in sum make up seventeen from all of his travels. He can never resist indulging in the ghost whenever he sees a cheap snow globe, no matter the fact that a year has passed since his evaporation. 

His chest throbs with pain, but he sighs shakily and it dissipates, like the arms of the angel wrapping around his waist and squeezing him against his concave chest. 

The door cracks open, and Adam rasps his name. The smell of alcohol hits his nose and he sits up quickly. “Did you throw up?” 

Adam is silent, too proud to admit he’d gotten sick on Christmas Eve. He wobbles by the door but still allows him to have his time. Any normal boyfriend might be jealous of his dead friend and the complicated relationship they might’ve had, but not Adam. He’s thankful for the gift of not being able to move on, despite its pros and cons. 

He sits up and swallows before standing, the damned bed screeching protests underneath him. He turns and stares at the snow globe, which has the glitter turning around the polar bear on its axis. He remembers Noah’s smile and mimics it, before wrapping an arm around his boyfriends’ sinewy waist. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He closes the door, just like he always does. Every time, it gets just a little bit easier.


End file.
